Bury This Picture
by cherryredxx
Summary: The sun still shines, even though she's not ready to move on.
1. Prologue

It was almost springtime. Healthy, green leaves were beginning to appear on the trees, beautiful flowers were blossoming in the garden, and the weather was steadily becoming more pleasant. The skies were cloudless, and they were coloured with a blue so bright that it was difficult to look at for any length of time. For the first time that year, she was able to glance through the window of her nearly-empty house and feel the faintest glimmer of hope. For the first time since her husband died, almost exactly a year ago to the date, she wanted to be alive.

She decided that this would be the day to begin her spring cleaning. Truthfully, she had been slacking off horribly with cleaning, but it was just so difficult for her to find a reason to live when the one thing that meant the most to her was taken so abruptly, in a manner so hurtful and unfitting, that it was a chore to simply get through the day. But, the sun was warm and bright, and she decided this would be the day. This would be the day she would conquer her emotions, be productive, and go at least an hour without thinking about Harry.

All of her photographs were upturned on the mantle. She couldn't bear to look at the smiling faces of her once-happy family. It hurt too much. But, slowly and one-by-one, she set them to a standing position. Her promise to not think about him was broken immediately. The mere image of his unruly black hair and the smile that was so undoubtedly _him_ was enough to send a steady stream of tears down her cheek. In a way, she wished that it would have been a Muggle photograph, because then she wouldn't have to see him moving around and waving to her as though he were alive. She brought the photo to her lips, brushing them against the cool glass that protected it.

Her tears were blinked away as she took in a deep breath. She needed to get over this; she needed to move on. It wasn't healthy to allow herself to become so emotional all the time. Even her mother had said that she wasn't allowing herself the opportunity to explore life without him, but she never listened. Instead, she sat in the musty, old house all day, smoking cigarette after cigarette, and crying because she lost him. But, this was the first time for months that she had seen his face outside of her mind's cruel visions of the night that he died. It seemed that that mere moment in her life would never stop replaying itself. That fateful moment in time, the meagre seconds that it lasted, would live on forever in her memories. She wasn't sure she'd ever be able to forgive herself.

"Oh, Harry, I'll never forget," she whispered, allowing her tears to freely flow from her eyes, staining her reddened cheeks and marking them with her grief.

Her grip on the photograph slacked, and it fell to the floor. The glass shattered, a thousand tiny shards scattered around her feet. She gasped for breath and fell to the floor beside it, disregarding the fact that the photo was still very much intact. It didn't matter. Photographs were her only souvenir of her marriage that remained tangible, and she had allowed it fall to pieces.

When she was finally composed enough to get to her feet, she removed her wand from her sleeve and said, "_Reparo!_" The miniscule fragments of glass rushed together, reforming into its original shape, and she placed it back inside the frame. Then, she went to return it to the mantle, but was halted by a foreign piece of parchment that was sitting enticingly on the shag carpet before the mantle. When she first opened it, she recognised immediately the familiar, messy script that was her own.

_Dear Ginny,_

_You may not be willing to believe this at first, but I need you to at least try. It is very important that you do what this letter says, even if you think it's mad. I cannot emphasise enough how important it is that you just do what I say, if for no reason beyond curiosity. Please, try to understand how strange this is for me, as well._

_The letter you are reading is from you. Right now, I am in the year 2045 and I am sixty-four years old. Harry died one year before you read this, almost to the day. Where you are, it is the year 2012, and you are thirty-one. I know that you are trying to recover from Harry's death, and I know it has been terrible for you, and that's why I am writing you this letter. You're never going to move on when you never change anything. I've learned that the hard way, and I'm going to tell you what to do so that you can avoid what you'll inevitably come to if you continue down this road. It is imperative, Ginny, that you do as I say._

_I will not give you all of the details, nor will I tell you why, but you will be okay again. These instructions will come as a shock to you, but please ijust do it. /i_

_Go to Draco Malfoy._

_I will be in touch._

She read the letter three times, unsure of what to think or say or do. It was definitely her writing that filled the page, but she could not remember ever writing such letter. In fact, she was certain that she hadn't, and she had no way of explaining how the letter had gotten there. That photo had been sitting on the mantle for years. She wondered how long that letter had actually been there, waiting for the fateful day that she would drop the photograph and it could finally reveal itself to her.

It was mad to think that she had come back from the future with a letter that gave explicit instructions to go to Draco Malfoy. She hadn't seen the man in years – had no desire to – and now she was actually considering if she should do as instructed. What did she have to lose? She was at the lowest point in her life that she had ever been, and even the prospect of being able to move on was appealing enough for her to think twice about what the letter had said. The miniscule chance that she could possibly move on from the hell that she had been living in for the past year was enough hope to make up her mind.

She was going to find Draco Malfoy.


	2. Chapter 1

After the War ended, Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy removed any charms that rendered their extraordinary home un-plottable. They were no longer a threat to society, and the Ministry had allowed for them to regain their estate under this condition. Because privacy was such an important luxury to the regal family, they moved. Malfoy Manor remained unoccupied domain until years later when their son, Draco, married Astoria Greengrass.

It wasn't true, necessarily, that Draco wanted to return to his childhood home, but he did so out of love for his wife. She had insisted, and he had given in. When they married, he was only nineteen, and would have given anything to make her happy. He needed her to be, so that he could feel that emotion vicariously.

Her tragic death swept through England only two years later. Not yet twenty, Astoria fell ill. Most people believed Dragon Pox to be eradicated over a century prior, but it hadn't. For the last, miserable six months of Astoria's life before her death at the tragically young age, she had to be kept in isolation for fear that the disease would spread.

Once her life had ended, Draco was left alone. His parents had moved to Bulgaria long before this, his beloved had gone, and he had no children to raise. He remained where he was, though, leaving the Manor the way it had been when Astoria had perished with one exception. The single reminder of her face, a large portrait in the main entrance, was turned backwards. For ten years, he was unable to look at her face.

* * *

She'd never been there before. Harry had, during the War, as had Ron and Hermione and many other people that she knew, but she hadn't. There had never been a reason for her to, until now.

There had been a lot of tales about the place, about how it was frightening and malevolent and how a person could almost feel the humanity being sucked from their body, simply from looking at it. She often wondered if, perhaps, the location had been the cause of Lucius Malfoy's evilness. Maybe, if they'd inherited a different mansion to live in, she would have never encountered Tom Riddle. But that had been the thought of a naive little girl. She'd grown since then, but she'd still never gone there.

And yet, here she was, carefully treading on the lightly coloured cobblestone path that wound to the main entrance, bisecting a beautiful garden. The entire yard was full of lush flowers and green grass, everything beautifully maintained and pleasant. The place did not appear evil or wicked, but rather comfortable and welcoming, even despite the intimidating size of the house, itself. She half-expected there to be a white-picket fence.

She approached the front door cautiously, knocking on it with the large, brass handle. When nothing happened, she knocked a second time, and then a third. Resolving that Draco Malfoy may not have been home, she decided to leave. She told herself she'd come back at another time and try again, but in truth, it had taken quite a lot out of her to simply find the place. She was not the daring, adventurous girl that she had once been.

Just as she'd taken four or five steps off of the porch, she heard the front door creak open slightly.

"Who are you, and what do you want?"

It was a man's voice, definitely, but it was one she didn't recognise. It was gruff and a bit slurred. She was sure it couldn't be Draco's, but when she turned to face the man, she jumped slightly to a halt. It _was_ Draco. He looked older than he had the last time she'd seen him, obviously, but his appearance was severely dishevelled. Stubble on his chin and face marred his once-flawless skin. His hair was a mess, and his clothing was wrinkled, even a bit dirty. His eyes were squinted against the brightness of the sun, as though he hadn't seen it for years.

Ginny cleared her throat. "Hi, Draco," said, her voice cracking slightly with nervousness. "I know it has been a long time, maybe you don't even remember me, but –"

"Oh, I remember you," he said, cutting her off abruptly and rudely. "How could I ever forget that red hair? You're the Weasley girl."

"Y – yes," she confirmed, words accompanied by a nod.

"Well, why are you here?"

She chewed her bottom lip nervously, unsure if she was more unsettled by his brusque appearance or simply her reasoning for the visit. "I know this is going to sound ridiculous and strange, but would you mind if I came in?"

"I do mind, actually. I've been alone for a long time, Weasley, and I'd like to keep it that way."

He went to slam the door, but she rushed forward, allowing her hand to catch it first.

"Wait!" she pleaded. "I need your help."

"Weasley, I haven't seen you in, what? Almost fifteen years?" He chuckled humorlessly. "Civilised people don't generally show up unannounced at other people's homes, especially when they barely even know the people they're bothering. We weren't friends at Hogwarts, we weren't friends after, and we aren't friends now. Now, please leave."

"I _can't_," Ginny insisted, forcing the door to open even wider. "I just need to talk to you for a few minutes. _Please,_ may I come inside?"

Draco sighed deeply before rolling his eyes and stepping aside. "Fine, but you've only got five minutes."

She stepped past him and into the grand foyer of the Manor, admiring the high ceilings and the grand decor. Portraits hung around the walls, past and present Malfoys staring down at the somewhat-welcome guest that just entered the once-impenetrable estate. The marble floors complemented the warm colouring of the room, but Ginny was able to see how these rooms could have once been rather intimidating.

"You're wasting time."

His sharp tone penetrated her thoughts impatiently, effectively snapping her out of her thoughts. She put on a half-smile and turned toward him, approaching him cautiously.

"Right. Malfoy, this is going to sound mad."

"How about that," he interjected sardonically.

"I see your age and poor hygiene haven't taken away your inability to be nice," she retorted. She rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Look, this isn't why I'm here. I didn't want to come in here and argue with you and be mean. There is a reason why I'm here."

"Then get to it. You've already wasted three of your five minutes."

"Damn you!" she shouted, stamping her foot. "I found a note from my future self, and it said to go to you. That's why I'm here. I wanted to approach the topic a bit more sanely, but seeing as though you've got me on a time limit, I figured I'd just get right to it."

His brow furrowed into a frown, and he studied her carefully for several minutes. He said nothing for a long time, putting them dangerously near the ten-minute-mark, only circled around her confused form, making her positively anxious. After another minute, he stopped and looked at her properly. "You're right. I do think you're mad."

"Draco!" she shouted. "Do you know how hard this is for me? I hate you – my family hates you. Do you honestly think that I'd come here just to sit down for a chin wag and a spot of tea? I know it sounds ridiculous, but it isn't impossible; I know you've heard of a time-turner. If Ginny Potter from the future thinks I need to talk to bloody Draco Malfoy, then damn it, I'm going to do so!"

"Weasley, calm down," he instructed lazily, rolling his eyes.

"No, I won't bloody calm down!"

"Yes, you will. You're dangerously closed to being tossed out of here on your arse, so I suggest you do what I say."

Ginny let out a sound that seemed to be a mixture of a growl and a scream. She quieted down after that, but began pacing back and forth in front of Draco.

How could she have ever thought that this was a good idea? How could this have ever ended well? At his best, Draco Malfoy was a pompous, rude, spoilt brat, and at his worst, he wasn't much different. There was simply no way that coming here was going to accomplish anything besides making her more angry than she had been in a long time.

"Weasley, will you stop that? You're getting on my nerves."

"Well, you already got on mine, so I guess that makes us pretty even, doesn't it?"

"You haven't changed since you were a bloody child, did you know that?"

She rounded on him, her face coming dangerously close to his. Her eyes narrowed. "Actually, Malfoy, I've changed quite a bit."

"Could've fooled me. You've still got that same temper that you've always had!"

Ginny snorted at that. "And you're still a sarcastic, arrogant, not to mention _evil_ prat!"

He moved so quickly that she had no time to react. Within only fractions of a second, he had her pinned up against the wall. He paid no mind to her wincing, as the stones dug into her back uncomfortably.

"Let me clear one thing up for you, Weasley. I am not now, nor have I ever been _evil._ I am an upstanding citizen of Wizarding England, and I have been my entire life. I've never been charged or convicted of any crime in my life, regardless of your preconceived notions. And, if that is what you think of me, then why are you here?"

Using all of her body weight and all of the strength that she could muster, Ginny pushed away from the wall, knocking the blond man back a few steps. "I've already _told_ you why I'm here, but maybe it was just a mistake."

"I couldn't agree more." He pointed toward the door. "There's your way out. Good riddance."

She turned to face the door, set to leave, but something stopped her dead in her tracks. Above the metal frame, there was a portrait that was turned over. Harshly, she was reminded of her own mantle and her own photographs that she was unable to look at properly for a long time, and she felt rather guilty. Perhaps there was a reason for the way Draco was acting, and maybe she shouldn't have allowed her temper to get the best of her.

Carefully, she faced him, her expression softened significantly. She pointed to the upturned photograph. "Who – who is that a picture of?" she asked gently.

"No one," he answered sharply. "Now go!"

"No, Draco, I can't. Tell me, who is that?"

He narrowed his eyes at her, trying to intimidate her into leaving before he'd have to answer. But she was not afraid; rather, she was more confident than ever. He sighed deeply. "It is a picture of my wife, okay?"

Ginny blanched. "I didn't know you were ever married."

"We weren't married long," he admitted grudgingly. "She was just out of Hogwarts, and I was two years older. She died two years after. I haven't been able to look at it since."

Bravely, she approached him further, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Harry died, too," she said, "just last year. I understand, you know."

"I saw that in the Prophet," he said, his voice suddenly less sullen. "I'm sorry."

She nodded curtly. "Thank you. May I ask what happened to –"

"Astoria," he said, finishing her sentence for her, realising that she probably didn't know his late wife's name. "She died of Dragon Pox. Because of her age and how late it was caught by her Healer, she wasn't able to recover."

"I'm sorry, Draco," Ginny whispered, feeling tears stinging at the back of her eye. "I'm sorry, but I have to go."

Not waiting for a response, she bolted from the house and into the garden, intending to leave and never come back. She knew, now, why she was there. She was supposed to help Draco heal his wounds that were left, healing hers as well by being able to forget. She wouldn't do that. She wouldn't allow herself to forget Harry. Twenty years of her life were devoted to him, out of love and care, and she wasn't about to throw that all away because Draco was even weaker than her.

"Ginny, wait!"

Despite her better judgment, Ginny turned and faced him. "What do you want?"

He jogged down the path toward her. "How did Harry die?" he asked. "It was never written in his obituary."

"That was my choice," she said coldly, "and I made that choice for a reason."

"Maybe that's your problem, Weasley," he said, a bit of the sardonic jocularity that she had gotten used to in their school years returning to his voice. "You'll never be able to move on if you can't ever talk about him."

"You're really one to talk, you know that? At least I can look at his picture!" Her hands gestured wildly as she spoke.

He grabbed onto her wrists, bringing her hands down to the front of them. "Hey, don't try to hurt me just because you feel badly," he said, almost gently. "I know I've got problems, but I never asked anyone to help me. iYou/i came to ime/i, remember?" He paused. "Tell me how he died."

A single, fat tear slid down her cheek. "I _can't_," she said. Without even thinking, she grasped onto his arms, gripping onto him tightly as she buried her face into his shirt. "I can't because it was _my fault_." She continued to sob into his chest as he slowly lowered them onto the cobblestones. "It's my fault he's dead." Her voice was a barely audible whisper.


	3. Chapter 2

When she had finally become coherent in her thoughts, she found herself being rocked back and forth against his chest. It was peculiar, Ginny decided, that Draco Malfoy would be so sympathetic and caring when not ten minutes ago he was acting as though he could barely feel anything. He was just as broken as she was, but in a strange way, it dulled the pain. It allowed her to seek solace in someone who knew exactly what she was going through. But it almost made her feel worse. Draco had been widowed for over ten years, and still he was unable to move on. Still he was unable to look at her picture.

Draco helped her to her feet and led her into his dining room. He only looked straight ahead of them – never at her – but Ginny could only stare. His jaw was set in a firm line, covered with a coarse layer of salt and pepper stubble, and he had shallow wrinkles around his eyes and forehead. Up close she was able to see how much Astoria's death had aged his features, but somehow it made him that much more handsome. The lines of his face were softened and much less pointed, and his almost constant expression of grief was a breath of fresh air compared to the scowl that was always plastered on his face when he was a teenager.

He pulled out a chair for her at the kitchen table. "How do you take your tea?"

She smiled slightly, gracefully accepting the offered seat. "Two creams, three sugars, and a wedge of lemon, please," she answered.

Draco entered the kitchen to prepare her tea, returning only a few moments later. When he returned, Ginny had not moved even an inch from where she had been. Her feet were up on the chair so that she could rest her chin on her knees, and her arms were protectively wrapped around her legs. She looked sad, confused, and _small_.

"Thanks," she said, accepting the mug that Draco held out for her. "You know, you didn't have to make this for me. I could've just gone home, you know."

"I'm not letting you leave in the state you're in," he said, sitting across from her and folding his arms over his chest. He paused for a moment, eyeing her critically as she sipped her tea. "So, are you going to talk about it?"

"About Harry?" she asked. "No."

"Then why did you come here?"

"Because I apparently wrote myself a note in thirty years, and –"

"Yes, I got that," he snapped, cutting her off before she had the opportunity to retell the story. He paused again. She was tense and shivering from the chill in the air. "So, why do you think that you wrote it, then? What do you think you're supposed to be doing?"

She locked eyes with him for the first time that day. Her warm brown eyes searched his icey grey orbs for a hint of malice – an indication that he was making fun of her. She found nothing but the grief that she had sensed from the moment they had begun speaking. "I'm supposed to help you."

"I don't need your help, Weasley."

Ginny nibbled on her bottom lip, cocking her head to the side. "You've changed a lot, Draco," she said.

"Well, of course I've changed. I haven't seen you since I was seventeen."

"Yeah, I know that," Ginny agreed with a nod. "We may not have been friends when we were at school, but that doesn't mean I didn't notice you. When I say that you're different, I don't just mean you've grown up. I mean you aren't even the same person. You're a shell of yourself, and I think I can help you. I think that's what I'm supposed to do."

Draco nodded, pondering what Ginny had said. "How do you know it isn't the other way around?" he asked.

"Because your future self didn't tell you to help me, that's why."

"That's because my future self isn't annoying."

"This is pointless," Ginny said with a roll of her eyes. She stood up, taking one last gulp of tea. "Obviously, this whole thing was just a mistake. I shouldn't have come here, and I'm very sorry that I bothered you. You're obviously beyond help – beyond all hope and reconciliation. I've wasted your precious time as well as mine, so I'll just go."

Draco stood also. "No, wait." He walked to her side of the table. "I'm not trying to push you away. I haven't spoken to anyone in a long time, and it's actually kind of nice to have someone to talk to." It appeared almost painful for him to make such a confession.

In those mere seconds, Ginny realised how wrong she had been about something. He was grief-stricken and miserable, causing himself to age far beyond his time, but he wasn't beyond hope. Draco Malfoy didn't know _how_ to get himself out of the trap he was in and fix his life. Even though he wanted to, he had no idea how to get better and move on.

"I – I have to go, Draco," she said quickly. "I'll come back tomorrow, if that's okay?"

He nodded. "I'll see you then."

* * *

When Ginny and Harry had first got married, they had not always got along well. Like any young couple who had married far too young, they fought regularly about everything. Ginny despised the fact that he had chosen to be an Auror, hated how dangerous it was and was infuriated by the ridiculous hours he was forced to work. Harry hated that she had chosen to be a professional Quidditch player. On the rare occasion that he iwas/i home, she was often away or too tired to spend any quality time with him. For the first few years of marriage, in fact, they did little other than fight and then make up. Repeat until insane.

But the young redheaded witch had always known where to seek refuge. The Burrow was always her home, even if she didn't technically lay her head there. Ginny knew that her mum would always be ready to listen to her problems and hold her while she cried, even if Ginny wasn't a little girl anymore.

But when the tragedy struck, Ginny stopped visiting her mum as often. She stopped visiting anyone, in fact, and resolved herself to only speak to her family when they had come to Grimmauld Place. The visits from her mum and dad and brothers began happening less and less frequently, as the once fiery witch had become painfully depressing to be around.

Needless to say, it was quite a shock for Molly Weasley to see a much brighter looking Ginny Potter standing in her kitchen. In less than a second, the older witch had pulled her grown-up daughter into a tight embrace. The plump witch was now into her sixties, but the bone-crushing hugs that she was notorious for had not faltered in the slightest.

"Oh, my Ginny!" Molly cried, pulling away slightly from her daughter. "How are you feeling, dear? Is everything alright? Would you like some tea? Are you hungry?"

Ginny smiled half-heartedly as she placed a quieting finger against her mother's lips. "I'm okay, Mum."

Molly gave her a bit of a scornful look. "Well, excuse me for wanting to take care of you, Ginny. Have you forgotten that you've not been around here in months? A mother can't help but wonder if you've got a reason to –"

"If you want me to go, I will."

"Don't be daft, Ginny!" Molly softly touched the back of her hand against Ginny's cheek. "Why are you here, dear? I know you well enough to know that you've got a reason."

The younger witch sat down at the kitchen table, taking in her surroundings carefully. The Burrow had barely changed in the thirty years she had been alive, and she loved that. It would always be her safe haven, even if she hadn't been there for months. The tiny, humble home that belonged to the Weasleys was a constant reminder that Ginny would never truly be alone.

"Mum," Ginny said, breaking the momentary silence that had settled between them. "I wanted to know if there's something wrong with me." She bit her lip nervously. "Should I have got over Harry by now?"

"Oh, darling, there are no rules of mourning," Molly said gently. "Each person takes their own time to heal in their own way, and no one thinks there is anything wrong with you. You're holding on to someone you loved because you don't want to forget him. You know how hard it was for all of us to deal with Fred's death."

Ginny nodded. "I know that. But, what if I can't ever forget?"

Molly smiled sadly. "No one said you should forget Harry, dear. You just make a special in your heart for him, and eventually it won't hurt as much. You never forgot Fred, did you?"

"But what if ten more years go by and I still can't look at his picture?" Ginny began to cry, sobbing softly against a napkin. "What if I can't ever look at his picture without crying ever again?"

"Then your family has failed you, Ginny. It's our job to help you through it."

It made more sense to the younger witch in that moment, realizing how much Draco really did need her. Without someone to help him, he really never would move on. She knew what to do.

After apologizing to her mum and assuring her that she'd be back to visit soon, Ginny left the Burrow to return to Malfoy Manor. Even though she had said she'd stop by the following afternoon, she felt it imperative that she not wait. Draco was so miserable that she didn't want to prolong the healing. That's not what a friend did, and Ginny was determined to be a friend.

She knocked on the brass handle repeatedly until she heard someone moving inside. The door opened a moment later, revealing a very annoyed Draco, and Ginny wasted no time for greetings. "I think we should be friends," she said, out of breath from running. "I –I want to be your friend, Draco."

Draco scowled at her. "What are you going on about?"

Ginny gingerly put a hand on his shoulder. "You'll never heal if you don't have help," she said after she had calmed. "If you've got no one, Draco, you will always be miserable, and you won't ever be able to move on with your life."

"Weasley, I'm not really in the mood for this." He tried to slam the door in her face, but Ginny stopped it with her hand, much in the way that she had earlier. "You don't ever give up, do you?"

"No, I don't." She stepped closer to Draco. "I don't understand you. I don't understand what it is that you're so afraid of, why you don't want to talk to me." Ginny took yet another step, inching herself dangerously close to him. "I bet you don't even remember what she looks like, do you? Astoria? I bet you don't even remember what colour her hair is, or her eyes. You probably can't even remember the way she smelled or even what she was like." She took another step, and she was now almost flush against the blond man. "Don't you want to be able to think about her without feeling like you're going to die? Don't you want to make a place for her in your heart where you know you can always visit her, but not fall apart when you do? Don't you?"

With lightning-fast speed, Draco reached out and gripped her upper arms, squeezing so tight that she winced in pain. "How can you help me when you can't even talk about him?"

"I need _you_, too. We can heal together."

"It can't work like that, Ginny."

"Why the hell not?"

"Because I can't help you."

"You could if you tried, Draco."

"No, I can't, because I don't bloody know how to be someone's friend." He shook her violently, only to push her away at his final word. "Now get out of here!"

"I won't leave you alone, not like this. You've been alone since you were how old? Twenty-one? People need people, even soulless bastards like you!"

"So, what? You expect me to come live with you? We can be best friends and fix each other's hair and spend every minute together? I don't think so, Weasley. I could never like you that much and I don't even want to try."

Ginny snorted. "I'd never want that, Malfoy. Let's start small."

"What do you mean?" he asked, amusedly lifting an eyebrow.

Ginny gave an impish grin. "Have you ever heard of mini-golf?"


	4. Chapter 3

"Aren't you embarrassed to be losing so badly to a Weasley?"

"How do you figure that I'm losing?"

"Well, we're on the eight hole and my score is a twenty," Ginny explained with a cheeky grin. "You, however, are at a thirty-four!"

He lifted an eyebrow. "Where I come from, high scores win."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Not in golf, you ponce!" She smacked him playfully. "Here, now let me help you. You'll need to square up your shoulders and tap the ball gently. The idea is to get the ball _into_ the hole. See?"

Draco gave her a meaningful glare, but did as she said. He tapped the ball into the hole. He stretched and placed the club over his shoulder. "I just was unfamiliar with this Muggle sport, that's all."

The redhead smiled. "This is the most fun I've had in ages."

He took a seat on a nearby bench and stared at Ginny for a long moment. He crossed his arms over his chest. "So, are you going to talk about it now?"

Ginny's smile faltered. "No."

"Weasley, don't you think that you'll feel better?"

"No!" she stalked over to him. "This is supposed to be my little excursion to make _you_ feel better, not the other way around. And how does telling you how my husband died, thus bringing up some very painful memories, make anyone feel better? It won't, and I can't, so drop it."

The blond narrowed his eyes. "Fine." He stood, intending to go back to his golf club and continue on with their game, but a hand at his arm halted him. "Let go, Weasley, I just want to finish this game and get on with my life."

"I shouldn't have jumped on you like that."

"No, you shouldn't have, but it's fine." He nodded in the direction of the café. "Let's get coffee, yeah?"

She nodded solemnly, and the pair of them walked away from the golf course. When she had proposed to Draco that they go for a game of mini-golf, he had looked at her like she had grown a few extra heads. But then he had reluctantly agreed and they had gone and had a great time together. It made her feel good to make someone else smile for a change. It had been so long since anyone had actually enjoyed her company and she knew it.

They sat down at a high table in the café after each ordering their coffee. A comfortable silence stretched between them for a long while, but then Draco slid a folded up piece of parchment across the table to her.

"What's this?" she asked, eyeing the paper reluctantly.

"Just open it, will you?"

She did as he had requested, and was initially quite surprised about what was on the inside of the parchment. On the paper, in sloppy, slanted script was a note. She recognized the handwriting immediately as her own.

_Ginny,_

_If you're reading this letter now, that could only mean one thing. You've talked to Draco Malfoy. And please, don't be angry with him. He is only doing what he's told. He had to wait until the time was right to give you this letter._

_It's time to move on now. You have to make a special place in your heart for Harry and move on, but the only way you'll do that is with help. The man beside you knows what regret feels like, and more than anything, the two of you need each other. Help each other and re-learn what it means to love someone. You don't always need to be the strong one, Ginny. It's okay to ask for help sometimes, and it's okay to know when to move on. I promise you that Harry won't hate you for falling in love._

_You will find one more letter from me, although I will not tell you when or where. Just know that I'll be in touch with one final instruction._

_Take care._

"You – you knew," Ginny whispered incredulously after staring at the letter for a long moment. "When I came to see you that first time, you bloody well knew what I was there for, didn't you?"

"No!" Draco answered quickly. "Well, yes."

"Then why did you act like that? Why were you so cold and hurtful? Why did you try to push me away?"

He lifted a blond eyebrow. "You spent one year grieving over Potter. One year! Do you know how long it has been since my wife died?" He gave off a humorless laugh. "You don't know what grief is, Ginny, and you sure as hell don't understand real pain and suffering. For once, I want you to be the one to open up. You tell me the truth."

Ginny looked away, his piercing grey orbs too much to look at. "I can't talk about this anymore."

"My wife died ten years ago, and I have spent all of that time, locked away and alone. But you want to know something, Potter? I know more about what guilt feels like than you know."

"What do you mean?"

Draco rolled back his sleeve, revealing to her the Dark Mark, still emblazoned into his white skin. "This is the reason she's dead. No Healers would help her because of me. Because of my poor decisions, because of my stupidity, my wife died when she was only nineteen years old."

The redhead bit her lip and stared at him for several, long moments. He was angry and flushed and filled with pent up guilt and frustration. Sitting here with her was as hard for him as it was for her. It was time to finally tell someone the truth. It was time to finally tell someone what really happened to Harry.

"We – we went out," she began, her voice quivering. "I insisted that we should drive through Muggle London rather than Apparate. We were on our way to the theater and were at a stoplight when a man came around and asked Harry to roll down his window. Harry – he didn't want to. He told me that we were running late, and he was already angry at me for making him drive, but I told him to just ask the man what he wanted, and…" She couldn't finish her sentence.

He stood up from his seat and approached Ginny, pulling her tightly against his chest. "Do you want to get out of here?"

She nodded, and he took her away from there, attracting much attention as they went.

* * *

**A/N: **I apologize for the wait for this chapter, and I also apologize for how short it is, but please know that there is only one more to go and this seemed to be the only reasonable stopping place. I will update soon, though, I promise! I've got lots of story ideas that I want to start publishing once I've completed all of my in-progress stories! :)


	5. Chapter 4

When they arrived at Grimmauld Place, Ginny's emotions were mixed. She couldn't be there; she couldn't be in that house. For a year, she had barely been able to leave it. It had been her sanctuary. But then Draco forced her to come to terms with her guilt, forced her to think about what happened one year ago, and now it felt like a prison. The house was suffocating her, choking the life out of her with each breath she took. She began hyperventilating, but Draco wouldn't come near her. Not until she finished telling him what happened. But she couldn't speak.

After taking a deep breath, she approached the mantle. There were over a dozen photographs sitting upon her fireplace, each of which told a happy story. A photograph from when they were still in Hogwarts, a photograph of them kissing at the altar, a photograph of her dancing in the rain, a photograph of Harry smiling. At one point, those images had been her life, each one imprinted in her memory so vividly. But they still, somehow, felt like distant memories, a part of who she used to be. She looked at the images of herself – smiling, happy, and fierce – and realized that she hadn't been that girl, that woman, for a very long time.

She was conscious of the fact that the blond man across the room had not yet taken his eyes away from her. Ginny looked at him, knowing that he was patiently waiting for her to reveal the ending of the story. It was in that moment, when their eyes locked, that she realized that she _wanted_ to tell him everything.

"It was a gun," she said, her voice hoarse from crying. "As soon as Harry rolled down the window, the man put a gun to my husband's head."

Draco said nothing for a long time. He just looked at her, his face as expressionless as stone. "You couldn't have possibly known what was going to happen," he replied, his voice even.

"But I _made_ him," she reiterated. "I was the reason we were in that car, down that street. I was the reason that Harry talked to that man."

"You didn't know."

"What the hell difference does that make?" she asked, her voice rising. "It was an accident, but if I accidentally ran into you with a sharp knife and killed you, it would still be my fault!"

The blond was still expressionless. "You were acting in good faith."

Ginny laughed hollowly. There was no hint of amusement in her voice, only pain and irony. "A fat lot of good it's done for me, faith."

He walked towards her slowly. "You were right when you said that you've changed, Ginny."

This took her by surprise. "Excuse me?" she asked, not unkindly.

Draco said nothing for another long moment, only looked at her, analyzing her every feature. Her warm, cinnamon-colored eyes were swollen and red. Her face, which at one time had been exceptionally beautiful, was aged well beyond her thirty-one years. Small wrinkles were beginning to form around her eyes and lips, and her face appeared to be generally hollow. All of the fire and spirit that had, at one time, been the complete essence of her appearance had dissipated. This wasn't Ginny Weasley. That girl had died alongside her husband.

He swallowed. "I think there's a part of you that's still alive. You need to find something that brings it out of you and hold onto it. If you don't, then there is no point in trying to live. You're dead already."

His words were like a slap in the face, but as she watched him walk from the house, head held high and hands in his pockets, she realized that he was right. She had completely lost herself to her grief. There was nothing left of her.

* * *

It wasn't until days later that she was finally able to get out of bed. The sun was shining so brightly through the window that it hurt. Bitterly, she closed the blinds, blocking out the rays of light that stung her eyes before walking into the kitchen to fix herself some tea. When she got there, she nearly jumped in surprise as she saw someone sitting at her kitchen table.

"Ginny, darling, do you always sleep in this late?"

"Afternoon, Mum," the younger woman replied inexpressively. "How long have you been here?"

"Since ten o'clock."

Ginny all but ignored her mother, going on with fixing her tea and refusing to make any sort of eye contact. It wasn't that she didn't love her mother or want her mother to be around, but she simply wasn't in the mood for company. She wasn't in the mood for having company, or eating, or bathing, or doing anything but sleeping. She couldn't even cry anymore. It was fruitless.

Molly huffed and yanked Ginny away from her stove. "For goodness sake, Ginevra," she cried, forcing her daughter to look at her with an abrupt shake of the shoulders. "Your family has indulged your ridiculous behavior for a long time, but enough is enough."

"I know you are all sick of me, and that's why I don't bother coming around."

"We're not sick of you! We _miss_ you!"

"I just saw you earlier this week."

"Yes, and that's my point, love. I saw _you_, Ginny. I saw glimpses of my daughter, the one who has been gone for a long time. And I can't help but wonder what it is that had brought your spirit out like that before bringing you back to this."

Ginny looked at her mother, wise and strong, with an inkling that there was something missing. Something that her mother wasn't telling her. And then it hit to her. "You – you've got my last letter, haven't you?"

The older witch nodded. "You can imagine it was quite a shock to see the spitting image of myself come knocking at the door of the Burrow," she said, turning around and taking a seat at the kitchen table. "Oh, Ginny, I know this has been such an impossible year for you, and I understand how miserable you are, but it's time to let this all go."

"How, Mum?" Ginny pleaded. "I'd do anything to not be this miserable person. I'd do anything to be able to look at his picture and not feel like dying. If you know what I can do to get over it, then tell me!"

"Bury it," Molly whispered.

"Excuse me?"

The older witch reached into the pocket of her robes before pulling out a crumpled up piece of parchment. She set it on the table. "That's what the letter says," she clarified. "Take the picture of Harry that's sitting on your fireplace and bury it."

"Why in the hell would I do something like that? I love those pictures! I could never –"

"Oh, stop, Ginny! You've got other pictures, but there's one that hurts you the most. The one that you found the first letter behind kills you inside every time that you look at it. You need to bury it."

Ginny bit her lip, her eyes welling with tears. "How will that help?"

"It's symbolic, love. It's like a grave at the cemetery, you see. Bury the picture in a place where you can always go visit it rather than leaving it in the open where it can haunt you."

Slowly, the young redhead walked over to her fireplace and picked up the picture, giving it a final look. With that picture always in front of her, she had almost been able to play pretend. She could look at it when she wanted and see Harry smiling at her and waving, and it almost felt like he was still there. But he wasn't. Much in the way that his body had to be buried, so did his picture.

She approached the door of her house, but before she could leave, her mother's voice halted her.

"When I saw you the other day, I know you weren't happy," Molly said, "but I saw a part of you shining through your face that had been absent since Harry passed away. I know what it was – or rather who it was – that made you smile again, Ginny. Hold onto him. He needs you, too."

Ginny realized that strength wasn't being able to look at that picture and not cry, because she would always love Harry and she would always miss him. Strength was being able to bury it, to bury her guilt, and to realize that she wasn't responsible for his death. Blaming herself would not bring him back. Not ever. It was time for her to live again.

* * *

A few more days passed before she was finally ready to see him again. A part of her knew from that first day that there was something in her that sparked into life when he was nearby, but she hated herself for considering it. The nemesis of her deceased husband, the bane of his existence, was the only thing that made her feel like a real person again. A real, living, breathing person and not a shell of herself. Draco had brought her back to life.

She didn't need to knock at the door when she arrived. As soon as her hand was lifted, the door opened.

"Draco, I –"

He never allowed her to finish that sentence. In a split second, he had gathered her in his arms and covered her lips with his. All of the painful emotions that they had felt began to evaporate. Their experiences had been so similar – guilt and pain and isolation – and they both knew that there was no sense in dwelling on it any longer. There was no reason to continue to hide behind their sadness.

It was time to move on.

They separated only slightly, each panting for breath as they allowed the intensity of the kiss to settle between them. All they could do was look into each other's eyes and realize that, through finding comfort in one another, they had finally started to heal. They had begun the next chapter in their lives with the promise of a brand new day.


End file.
